


Aftermath

by Fumm95



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Some Fluff, Some hurt/comfort, dealing with the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: Between the triumph and the victory party, words need to be shared and understandings established.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started this soon after finishing my canon!Revan playthrough for the first time, almost 6 months ago now. Finally got around to finishing it.
> 
> Mostly, I just felt like there were a lot of conversations that still needed to take place before the end of the game regarding everything that they'd done or had done to them.

Malak was dead.

For several long moments, he stared at the crumpled form on the ground, trying to find a spark of recognition in the body. In the corpse. They had been friends, once. Fellow Jedi. Brothers-in-arms. Had traveled together, had found the Star Forge together. Had turned to the dark side together.

Had been master and apprentice, until the Jedi sent Bastila to stop them.

He remembered none of it, would not have even remembered _him_ if he hadn't already been told who Darth Malak was. Revan would know… but he was no longer Revan. Not entirely.

He was… someone else. Someone new. A mix of the man he had once been, impulsive and charismatic, and the man the Jedi had made him, moral and loyal. Revan and Griffith both.

He was his own person. He would forge his own path, decide his own fate. Pick his own love.

And he would never allow that to be taken away again. Not by the Jedi. Not by the Sith.

Not by anyone.

* * *

Bastila and Carth were waiting for him when he finally left the inner chamber of the Star Forge. He heard Carth speak first, but the words barely registered as his eyes searched for _her_.

The woman behind it all, behind the Jedi strike team and his original capture, behind his brainwashing and new life. His teacher and mentor during his first few months of rejoining the Jedi, as he worked to hone his understanding of the Code and the Force. His partner in the shared visions and the search for the star maps.

His love, in spite of everything that had happened to him, that had happened to them both.

She was no longer afraid, she had said before he left to face Malak, not of her feelings for him, of their love, and he reached for her, unable to suppress his smile as she took his hand. Her fingers fit in his like they were meant to be there.

They had ruined Malak’s plans for the Star Forge, had defeated the Sith together. Had saved the Republic together.

Had survived, both of them, and redeemed themselves.

And at last, they were safe.

* * *

She didn't let go. Not during their escape from the exploding Star Forge. Not through the call with the Republic fleet. Not at the curious looks at their clasped hands from the rest of their crew as they relaxed for the trip back to the mysterious planet and Temple of the Ancients, where the rest of the Republic fleet awaited them..

Not until they were alone, safely ensconced in the privacy of his cabin. Only then did she release her grip, instead sitting at the edge of the bed and wrapping her arms around herself in an uncharacteristic display of weakness.

“Bastila?” His voice was quiet, but even so, he could see her jump, could feel her stiffen in his grip as he rested a hand on her shoulder. She was _trembling_ , carefully contained so that nobody, not even he, had noticed when they were still all together and discussing their victories. “What’s wrong?”

For a long moment, she said nothing and he wondered whether she would ignore him altogether. When she finally spoke, her tone was brittle, so quiet he had to strain to hear. “So much death. So much blood on my hands.”

She wouldn’t look at him, and he didn’t need their Force bond to feel the pain and regret that ripped at her spirit.

“Bastila…” He reached for her but she moved away, arms tightening around herself.

“I’d always believed that I was special, that I could lead the Jedi to new heights. There was always a part of me that thought the Masters were holding me back. I thought I was stronger, better.” She took a deep breath, eyes seemingly focused on anything other than him, and shook her head before he could counter. “I was wrong. In the end, he didn’t even have to _force_ me to join him, to fall.”

Their eyes met, hers overbright with tears held back by sheer force of will. “I went willingly.” Her voice trembled, threatening to give way. “I went _willingly_. He saw right through me. I felt weak, useless, _terrified_ , beside you, with regards to my feelings toward you, and he saw and promised me power. And I… I did so many terrible things...”

This time, when he reached for her, she acquiesced, letting him draw her into his arms. Her breath came in shuddering sobs, strangled and harsh. “Other Jedi… Innocents… I fell so far, killed so many, and I can't forget them. Every time I close my eyes, I… I…”

She pulled away enough that he could see her face and the anguish in her expression broke his heart. “I have wondered whether you should have simply killed me, whether putting me out of my misery would have been kinder in the long run. But then again, perhaps I deserve to suffer, to know what my actions have caused.”

“That's not why I—”

“I know.” Her eyes bored into his with an odd mix of desperation and grief and resolution. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Bastila…” He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hand, wiping away the salty tears that lingered, glistening on her cheek. “Bastila, you _saved_ me. Without you, none of this would have been possible.”

When she still said nothing, he sighed, drawing her head up so their eyes met. “I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing tantalizingly against hers. “No matter what happens, I will love you.”

“I love you too.” A hint of a smile pulled at her lips, in spite of the sheen of tears still glistening in her eyes, and then he kissed her, warmer, firmer, and everything else seemed to fade away.

It was just them, alive and safe and together. Everything he needed.

* * *

“What should I call you?”

She was studying their laced fingers, but he didn’t need to see her expression to feel her apprehension through their bond.

He hesitated. “The Republic calls me Revan and I know Revan is who I was, but I don't know who he is. Not really. Even now, I only have glimpses of memories. I guess whatever the Order wasn't able to repress.” He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “But I don't know how much of Griffith Hallen before…” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Who was he?”

When she didn't meet his eyes, his grip on her fingers tightened. “Bastila, who was Griffith Hallen before this? Did he exist? Did I take the identity of some poor, dead, Republic soldier?”

“No!” The vehemence in her tone, in her eyes, took him aback. “No,” she repeated, her voice softer. “It was an identity created by the Council. They wouldn't tell me the details of how exactly they did it, but as I understand it, they created old records for you—for Griffith—and planted them in both the Republic records and your memory.”

He nodded slowly. It explained the brief flashes of Revan’s— _his_ —memories he'd had, the way Griffith’s memories were facts instead of images, sensations. But… “I didn't know you. Did the Jedi Council choose not to remind me? Wouldn’t my lack of knowledge have been suspicious? And where were you planning on taking me?” The questions fell from his lips, tumbling over each other before he could think, questions that had been plaguing him, festering in the back of his mind since the moment he found out the truth.

“Ah, yes, the Endar Spire.” Bastila sighed, staring off into empty space. “I was… overconfident. I meant to take you with me for a spell, to see how you'd react to me and to your Force-bond, to see how much of you was innate, what you still retained from your past. The plan for the Council was to test your receptiveness to the Force and then retrain you as a champion to bring down Malak.” She shook her head. “We did not anticipate Malak catching up so easily. The consequences were… catastrophic. For the entire world of Taris.”

He said nothing and, for a long moment, neither did she. Was she thinking about the people on the planet, the innocent lives who had done nothing to warrant being attack in such a way, who had no crime other than to be the unwitting hosts to a powerful Jedi and an amnesiac former Sith Lord? Was she wondering whether there was any way of saving them?

Was she thinking that it was their fault—his fault? That if she hadn't saved him and brought him back to the Council, perhaps Malak wouldn't haven't hunted her with such determination? That if he hadn't led Malak to the Star Forge, if they hadn't been tempted by the possibility of power, then perhaps none of it would have happened?

Her hand twitched in his and he looked down, realized that he was gripping her fingers so tightly that their tips were slowly turning red. Even so, her expression bore no pain, but only worry. “Are you all right? I know this is a lot to take in; I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—”

“You, the Council, shouldn't have lied in the first place.” His voice was flat and he noted her flinch with a twinge of something that resembled satisfaction. “I've done all these things, hurt so many people. Carth had been so _angry_ at Revan, and I can't even remember what I've done, can't even really feel guilty about how much he has lost.” He sighed. “I can understand wanting to try and redeem the enemy, but…” He gave a somewhat helpless shrug. “There must have been a better way.”

For a while, Bastila said nothing, only watched him with guilt and no small amount of pain. Then… “I was scared,” she said, her voice soft. “It's no excuse, I know, but we were all terrified that somehow, if you knew anything from your past, you'd remember and go back to the man you were before. And whenever I questioned, whenever I can feel myself wondering whether this was the best course of action, I told myself that the Council would know best and so I trusted them.”

He nodded once, abrupt. It made sense, in some twisted way, but it didn't help the chaos and emptiness in his brain, the space where memories of his past should have been. He wasn't sure anything would.

The slow withdrawal of her hand caught his attention, pulling him from his strained attempts to regain his past and what was undoubtedly going to be a raging headache in a few hours. Bastila, on her feet, tugged again, shame still lurking in her gaze, only augmented when his fingers tightened around hers.

“What are you—?”

Her answering smile trembled. “Giving you space.” He could see her chest expand with her deep inhale. “Were I in your current position, I can't imagine I would desire company, particularly not from me.”

He shook his head, pulling slightly on their clasped hands. “No, stay. I… I need to think. I don't condone what you've done or your silence but… I think I understand.” He couldn't repress a small smile as she perched beside him once more. “Besides, you did save my life. Multiple times. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you.”

Bastila said nothing and he paused, reaching out to cup her cheek and turn her face towards his. “Who am I to you, then? You asked what my name is, but who do you think of?”

Grey eyes slowly met his, a mixture of apprehension and consideration in their depths. “You have always been Revan to me,” she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible. “Griffith Hallen belongs to the soldier, but the Jedi is Revan.”

“The Jedi both light and dark, neither of which I remember.”

She visibly flinched, but shifted closer. “That doesn’t mean you’re not the same person. Strong, persuasive, charismatic. Revan. You.” For a moment, silence reigned as she studied his face, and then a hint of a smile curved her lips. “But whatever name you decide doesn’t change you from the man I love.”

He sighed, but couldn’t help his smile. “And I love you too. Always,” he murmured before moving in to kiss her.

* * *

“What now?”

He turned to find Bastila watching him with an oddly curious expression on her face, one that curved to a hint of a smirk when he sent her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

She gestured towards the swirl of hyperspace vaguely with an arm. “We're almost back to the arms of the Republic. We should figure out what to do.”

He grinned. “We the crew or _us_?”

“Mostly simply us. I expect most of the crew already have their own plans, or can make arrangements for themselves easily enough. Carth, Canderous, Mission, and Zaalbar likely have plans. Jolee and Juhani will return to the Order. And we…?” She drifted off with a shrug, though the intensity with which she watched him belied her seemingly cavalier attitude.

The answer should have been obvious: stay with her and live out their lives as the Force would deem fit for them. And yet the Council would never allow it, especially for two as volatile, as susceptible to the dark side, as they had already proven to be.

But then again, what did the Council’s opinion matter for anyway? It was they who had erased his memories, taken his former life from him. Who had chosen to lie to him, and who continued to lie to the rest of the Order about attachments and weaknesses. And he would be damned if he ever let them take the most important part of his life from him again.

Bastila was still watching, apprehension lingering faintly in her gaze, and the words fell out of his mouth before he could even think: “Marry me.”

Unadulterated shock flashed across her face before her usual Jedi serenity settled back on her features. “Sorry?”

He cleared his throat, realizing to his own surprise that his mind was clear, calm, without a hint of regret. “Marry me. You asked what happens now. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. The only thing I do know is that I want to stay with you, no matter what happens. So,” and he took a deep breath, feeling more than hearing his voice waver for the first time, “Bastila Shan, will you marry me?”

“The Council—”

“The Council can keep their mouths shut, unless they want word getting out about everything.” He snorted, the sound more bitter than he intended. “They don’t understand—they _can’t_ understand—love, or any of this. They claim that there is no emotion, and still fear everything that they don’t understand. Fear is an emotion, just like any other.” He took a deep breath as he studied her expression, wondering whether he had gone too far; she had always been more inclined to follow the Council’s teachings than anyone else he had known…

But she was smiling, still a little uneasy, but true and tinged with genuine affection. “The Council has never been able to control you.” She shifted closer, reaching out to take his hand and lace their fingers together. “And I am so glad for it.”

He raised a teasing eyebrow, even as a soft smile stole over his face. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Of course, yes.”

* * *

They stood atop the roof of the temple in the bright sunlight, all of them, with the soldiers who had fought against the Star Forge watching from the ground below. He could sense Canderous’ subtle fidgeting, uncomfortable as he was with the accolades and formalities. Jolee, on his other side, looked equally discomfited with the attention from Master Vandar Tokare on behalf of the Council.

As the crowds cheered, he turned to his head briefly, meeting Bastila’s gaze, warm and proud, though with a hint of mischief as her mouth twitched at Canderous’ almost inaudible grumbling, and fought back an answering grin. They had done it, had saved the galaxy, and perhaps more importantly, each other.

And, at last, they could live their own lives, for themselves, as they saw fit. Together.


End file.
